Ride
by Asrailefay
Summary: "Please don't leave me with him," Sookie whispers pleadingly, clinging to my neck like I'm her lifeline, "I don't know that man, Eric." "I am sorry, lilla du," I respond, unhooking her arms from about me, one and then the other – even though the small actions cause me inexplicable and unfathomable pain, "You DO know Bill; you don't know ME." AU/All-Human HEA E/S
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Prologue

* * *

 _Oh Oh Ohhh Oh Oh Ohhh I'm falling_

 _So I'm taking my time on my ride_

 _Oh Oh Ohhh I'm falling_

 _So I'm taking my time on my ride_

 _Taking my time on my ride_

\- Ride by twenty one pilots

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"What the freakin' hell, Bill!?"

I scream as I walk in on my _now_ officially ex-boyfriend plowing his dick into the tarted-up bitch he swore up and down, right and left was just a _close_ work colleague, a good but platonic friend.

Yeah, at least he didn't lie about one thing – they are _close_ , intimately so.

This is what I get for trying to surprise him on his birthday apparently.

God, I'm such a stupidly trusting woman sometimes.

"Sookeh! It's not what it looks like!"

Bill exclaims alarmed – butchering the heck out of my name as always – pulling out of the harlot known as Lorena, and flipping over to the other side of our bed – OUR BED – in a surprisingly deft maneuver.

The look of abject terror on his face is almost priceless.

"SERIOUSLY?! You fuggin' piece of shit!" I yell again, tugging so hard at my engagement ring it turns my knuckle white, "Keep him, Lorena," I spit out confidently, despite the fact my choice has been made in the spur of the moment, "Engagement's off, Bill!"

I hurl the ring across the room, not even waiting to hear it clatter across the slatted wooden floors as I storm out.

My emotions are banging against my eyelids, pushing liquid traitorously into the corners.

I will NOT let that cheating asshole see me cry.

"SOOKEH, WAIT!"

I hear again as I tear down the carpeted staircase – taking the steps two at a time – before snatching my purse from the narrow console table and throwing open the front door.

I don't even bother to check and see if he's following me.

Wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if he was.

Good riddance to bad rubbish!

My middle finger's held up proudly in the air behind me as I stalk over to my car – the one I refused to let him buy for me – still not shooting even one glance backwards.

Him cheating on me was THE end-all-be-all deal-breaker.

Relationship over.

I know I'm leaving a good amount of my stuff at his house – clothes, toiletries; the usual for non-cohabitating couples – but he can effing have all of it. I'm never taking one step over that threshold ever again. I'm beyond done. If all I have to do to rid myself of any ties to this waste of space is replace a couple of paltry things, who gives two shits?

Not this woman.

I wrench open the car door just as Bill comes running outside, trying awkwardly to pull a shirt over his head as he charges towards my vehicle. I waste not two seconds before slipping in, closing the door, and igniting the engine with the press of a button. I thank God, due to my shaking hands and frayed nerves, that there's no need to fumble with a key.

New cars really are the best when it comes to quick getaways.

In my haste, I forget all about the LoJack Bill had installed in my car – _to save on insurance, sweetheart_.

Doubt it, the paranoid asshole.

The car quietly beeps in a steady rhythm as I speedily reverse out of the driveway – paying close attention to the back-up camera – before I move the automatic shift into drive and peel off into the onyx-colored night.

The tears come soon after.

* * *

The tears don't stop, pouring down my face like open flood waters.

I'm driving like a bat out of hell down the two-lane freeway toward my Gran's house when a car – travelling a speed infinitely higher than mine – whooshes past me. The shockwaves cause me to swerve in my lane, and jolt me out of my almost trance-like funk. I'm startled for a minute, wondering why someone's going so hot towards Monroe until headlights come close after me, and does much the same, whipping left around my four-door sedan at an almost ungodly speed.

Going the same direction as I am.

 _Street racers_.

I remember my Gran's complained about them, especially their late-at-night antics, but I'd never experienced the whole thing until now. It's unsettling and jarring, setting my already lit anxieties ablaze. I white-knuckle the steering wheel as another turbo-charged suped-up vehicle throws mine towards the shoulder line. Wavering more than I'd care to, I correct the car's trajectory.

Hell, it's just a couple of hours past sunset – shouldn't they at least wait until midnight or something?

As a third zooms past me, I guess not.

Blurry-eyed, I slow my own practically chasing speed, hoping to get far far away from these adrenaline junkies so I can try to enjoy my drive in some semblance of peace – despite the fact my emotions are in tumult.

Headlights flash from quite a ways behind me – catching up rapidly – another pair coming towards me on the left, and I don't exactly know what I'm expected to do. It's not as if I can quickly pull over. I'm still going at a reasonable clip given the speed limit – but the car behind continues to flash its brights all the same, gaining ground every second I hesitate.

They're almost blinding to my overly sensitive blue eyes.

More than almost.

My vision spots and I almost involuntarily let go of the gas pedal, unable to properly see in front or around me. All I can think is that I need to slow the hell down before I drive off the road, or worse into advancing traffic. I don't even know anymore how close the car behind me is, the speckled blurs in my eyes are so bad.

I can only hope I've put enough distance between me and the oncoming traffic to give him the opportunity to pass.

But even though he tries, I haven't.

The passing vehicle clips my front left bumper as he cuts me off to miss the oncoming semi-truck, sending me into a spin I struggle hard to try and right. My car vaults towards a side-ditch, zig-zagging from my efforts to rejoin the tires with the road, hitting the shallow embankment almost square on.

As the vehicle starts to flip off the road, circling in the air not once but at least twice – the airbag exploding into my face and chest – I send a short prayer to God asking to survive the night right before everything goes pitch black.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shit, Alcide! I think I might have hit someone!"

I yell into my two-way CB radio as I slow my blurring speed and adjust the rearview mirror to see what I am afraid may be a wreck behind me.

In that moment, I wish to high heaven it was only a wreck.

Because in reality, it ends up being so much worse than that.

My heart practically bursts out of my chest – blood drumming hard in my ears – as I raptly watch a shiny white Hyundai Ioniq hybrid careen towards the road's shallow side-ditch. I start to breathe a haggard sigh of relief, running my trembling hand through my hair, but then it flips – not once or twice, but three times – landing on its head before it shimmies to a teetering stop.

My whole world shakes to a stop too.

Oh my God!

What have I done?!

I slam hard on the brakes, tires squealing as rubber peels off and melts to the road. But I pay it zero mind; adrenaline's got me squarely by the balls. Barely giving a thought to oncoming traffic, I whip my modified Tesla Model S around, u-turning like my life depends on it – the sinking feeling in my gut reminding me it's not my life I've stupidly put in danger.

Never in my life have I felt like such a dick.

Or been so fucking terrified.

"Eric," Alcide's speakered, tinny voice shouts back through the radio, "Get the fuck outta there! You know you can't afford a third strike, man!"

"FUCK NO!"

I scream back, flipping the CB off before that self-centered prick can try to convince me I'm being a dumbass or that someone else will take care of it.

This is my fucking mess, and I'm gonna clean it up.

If that means facing the music, so be it.

In seconds, I'm just past the site of the crash, pulling another quick u-ey before steering the car off the road onto the grassy shoulder. I fling the door open with so much force the metal groans its displeasure, and sprint towards the white vehicle. I pray to a God I'm not really sure I believe in that the driver's okay. Not because it'll be so much worse for me if they're not, but because I'm genuinely concerned, and also scared shitless.

"Oww…"

I hear a sweet female voice moan loudly – full of heart-wrenching pain – as I strive to close the gaping distance between myself and the upended car.

Not surprisingly, the sound doesn't make me feel a damn bit better. Instead, my stomach roils and lurches in response. But I swallow the vomit that spills into my mouth, refusing to let anything distract me from the task at hand.

Save the girl.

It's on fucking repeat in my mind.

I feel nothing like Superman as I rip the dented door open and sink to my knees to gaze at the car's – thankfully conscious – inhabitant whose bright blue eyes are full of whale-sized tears. Every airbag's been deployed, cushioning her from almost all sides, but of course they've caused burns and bruises to pepper her tanned, otherwise flawless skin. From the depth of some of the abrasions, I know she'll have scars that she'll probably carry with her for the rest of her life.

Fuck, that's all my fault too.

"I think I hit my head."

She giggles almost playfully, reaching up (down?) to gently touch at the goose-egg knot forming just under the purpled skin on her forehead – vaulting my anxieties a nearly epic level.

She's delirious, probably concussed.

What the fuck else could it be?

"Yeah, I think you did," I respond, adopting a much more serious tone than hers, a frown curling at my lips and etching a furrow into my brow, "I'm going to get you out of there, okay?"

She nods in agreement, her glassy eyes still filled with shining liquid even as she smiles trustingly at me. Hanging upside down, she still does her best to try to lean back, scooching to make it easier for me. She's amazingly calm, and it's freaking me out to no end. But I don't let her see it. Instead, I slip my hands past her, one snaking around her waist as the other searches for seatbelt latch. Once found, I release the life-saving belt, simultaneously pulling her towards me and subsequently on top of me.

Fuck – I realize too late – don't they say not to move injured people?

I let out a stuttering breath as tears begin to prick at my eyes.

What if I just made everything that much worse?

We lay there for seconds, my back on wet grass and her head resting in the crook of my shoulder – positioned like a couple drifting off to sleep. It feels right and wrong all at the same time. I don't know if I should move her – I'm certain I don't want to – but my head's racing with morbid thoughts that she could be bleeding internally.

"Thank you…"

She sighs contentedly, nuzzling further against my clothed chest, before her hand reaches up to thumb at the small scruff on my chin.

"Eric," I offer shakily – from built-up anxiety as well as the electricity her touch has sparked under my skin, "Do you know your name?"

I decide it's best to check her mental state first.

Plus, I'm not sure what else I can do without accidentally hurting her more.

She stiffens at my question and, after another couple of seconds, begins to sob openly.

"No," she chokes out, tremoring so hard I worry she might be seizing, "Oh my God, Eric, I don't even know my own name!"

I couldn't feel like a bigger piece of shit for doing this to her.

But it's very much not about me right now.

"Shhhh, lilla du…"

I soothe softly – calling her "little one" in my native tongue – as I run my fingers lightly through her golden tresses and then down across her back, giving into every instinct I have to cherish and protect her.

Despite the fact the feeling is foreign and strange.

I am not usually this kind of man.

Of course, I usually don't cause car accidents either.

"It's okay, lilla du," I assure her, "You've been through a traumatic event. I'm sure these things happen," She seems to believe what I'm saying, even though I'm not sure _I_ do. Her hitching breath begins to slow, and then finally evens, but I encourage her still, "I bet it'll come back to you soon."

But something else apparently comes back to her instead.

Or _someone_ else, I should say.

* * *

Sookie.

Her fiancé, Bill Compton, told me her name is Sookie.

Right before he showed me their engagement photo.

I'd spurred into action – readied for a fight – when he'd happened upon us, screaming like a banshee for her to get the hell off of me. She'd clung to me tighter instead, and I'd moved us to a sitting position, cradling her in my lap. All thoughts she might be internally damaged had been blown from my mind once she'd started quaking in fear against my towering frame.

Whoever this guy was, she certainly hadn't recognized him, plus he'd scared her.

That'd been enough for me.

I'd not so politely told him to back the fuck off, and then explained her amnesiac state.

The smile he'd given me when he'd handed over the picture from his wallet had unnerved me, but I couldn't argue that Sookie obviously knew him. There she was – beautiful and smiling a toothy grin, with her diamond ring glinting in the sun – standing next to the guy I'd mentally categorized as an enterprising asshole.

When he walks off to inspect the upturned car, she pulls her head away from me to look at it too.

"Is that me?"

She murmurs quietly – so that only my ears can hear – looking for me to confirm whether or not she really is the girl in the photo.

Momentarily, I consider lying.

But I don't.

I'm not going to be THAT kind of asshole.

"Yes, lilla du," I confirm, nodding my head solemnly as I swing my arms under her and stand up to settle her down to her feet, "That _is_ you. He is your fiancé, and coming to your rescue it seems."

Gazing over at Bill as he unmounts some sort of gadgetry-looking thing from the vehicle, she frowns. She continues to stare as he fiddles with the device – squinting hard like her eyes are really the problem. It's as if I can see her mind trying to place him, search for some memory that would explain who he is. But apparently she comes up short, and then blows out a small exasperated huff.

She looks adorable when she pouts.

Something is wrong with me.

"Eric, a word."

Bill requests, bidding me over with gesture that makes me want to kick his teeth in. I'm not a fucking dog; there's no reason to try to treat me like one. But despite the fact I want to punch his lights out, I give Sookie's hand a quick squeeze and walk towards him. I swallow my pride because I don't want to risk upsetting her – she's been through enough tonight already.

"Do you know what this is?"

He asks, holding out the item he procured from the car in his palm.

My heart drops into my stomach, and once again I feel sick.

Because I _do_ know what it is.

It's a car-cam.

"I have called the police," Bill expounds, smirking like he hopes I'm going to shit my pants, "...and an ambulance for Sookie, of course," he adds after I scowl, "So I would suggest you take this and leave now."

Wait… what?

This conversation is definitely not going the way I expected.

"I will take Sookie," He says slowly – in the most condescending way possible, "and you will take the evidence that proves you caused this wreck. Got it?"

I hate the feeling of relief that courses through me.

Because I'm not sure I'm willing to essentially trade Sookie for my freedom, third strike and all.

But if I stay, I'll get taken to jail anyways and he _is_ her fiancé – I rationalize to myself.

Begrudgingly, I take the proffered camera and return to Sookie's side. A pang shoots through my gut as she beams at me like I'd been gone entirely too long, like she'd missed me. She winces as she threads her arms back around my neck, hinting with a small tug that she would like me to lean down and give her a kiss.

"Eric."

She breathes out as her eyes close in anticipation – reverently and with awe – like I'm an answered prayer.

I almost don't do it, don't push her away.

But then I do.

"Sookie," I say sternly, denying her unspoken request – making a decision that I hope isn't the biggest mistake of my life, "You need a hospital, and I have to go. Bill is here now; _he_ will take care of you."

"Please don't leave me with him," Sookie whispers pleadingly, clinging to my neck like I'm her lifeline, "I don't know that man, Eric."

"I am sorry, lilla du," I respond, unhooking her arms from about me, one and then the other – even though the small actions cause me inexplicable and unfathomable pain, "You _DO_ know Bill; you _don't_ know _ME_."

Unwilling to test my own resolve, I walk away from her then without tossing back a glance. Still within earshot, I can hear her soft sniffles, and Bill's awful babying coos. It's enough to make me go faster. After I slip back into my Tesla, I hesitate to ignite the engine, placing my forehead against the steering wheel instead. The camera's gripped tight in my hand, figuratively taunting me. I throw it into the backseat, disgusted with myself. Flipping the CB radio back on, I message out to my fellow street racers.

I want to let them all know I'm okay.

Even though I feel like I've been shattered into a thousand pieces.

* * *

 _A/N: FYI, Many states including Louisiana consider street racing, also known as reckless driving - driving in a way that a reasonable careful person would know is dangerous - to be a felony. Also, the third strike law basically promises to impose MUCH harsher penalties on three-pete offenders in the hopes to deter them before it happens. So Eric's fear of jail is very real, especially since he endangered Sookie's life when he caused the accident._

 _Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

As sirens flash in the distance, the ambulance wailing its off-putting tones, Sookeh slumps onto the ground cross-legged and pushes the heels of her hands against her wet, glassy eyes. Since Eric drove off, she's asked for him at least ten times. It's beyond my comprehension that she can't seem to stop simpering over the asshole who caused this whole mess in the first place.

But as much as it grates on my last nerve to coddle her in this moment, I continue to.

I need to keep up this damn charade.

"Sookeh," I coo softly, trying my best to summon all the gentleness I can muster – failing, but not miserably, "You'll feel better once you have been looked over. Everything will be okay."

"Lilla du."

She whispers back, face still in her hands – almost so quietly I don't hear her.

" _Excuse_ me?!"

I bark, anger seeping into my previously saccharine-laced tone as I realize she's essentially told me to call her the nickname that prick had given her.

"I'm not _Sook-eh_ ," she mockingly exaggerates, biting back venomously, her docile and sweet affect turning on a pin as she rises unsteadily to her feet, "LILLA. FUCKING. DU!"

My hands twitch angrily at my side, but I force them to still.

The ambulance has just reached us, after all.

* * *

"Sir, she may be concussed but she's also swearing up and down she doesn't know you, and I'm not just going to take your word over hers."

The female paramedic, who very rudely chose not to introduce herself, tells me plainly – all while denying me any kind of access to my Sookeh.

I should've anticipated the utter mistrust.

Sookeh had been still shaking with rage when the paramedics pulled up.

"If you want to ride with her to the hospital, you're going to have to show me some sort of proof she's _actually_ your fiancée."

I smile agreeably, slipping my wallet from my pocket to ultimately fumble around for a picture I almost instantly realize isn't there.

 _FUCK_!

I screech in my head as I realize the Swedish piece of shit never returned our engagement photo.

What the fuck am I gonna do now?!

"Surely, you must be joking, Miss…?"

I ask flirtatiously – my tone oozing with Southern charm – hoping to gain the woman's trust by leaning heavily on my rakish good looks.

It'd worked with Lorena after all.

"I would _never_ joke about a patient's care," she spits out disgustedly, her arms crossing as she dons a judging scowl, "Not her fiancé then. Got it. You can follow the ambulance if you want, but I'm under no obligation to tell you where we're going. Since you're not family after all."

She has to be fucking kidding!

But she's not.

Having had the last word – literally – the blonde bitch turns on her heel, jumps into the back, and closes both doors. The lights begin to blink red and blue – klaxon blaring loud – as the vehicle pulls onto the two-lane highway and takes off hastily into the night. My palms twitch once again, and I slam fisted hands harshly against my thighs, groaning when I realize I've stupidly cracked the SD card I'd pulled from the car-cam. Not seconds later, the boys in blue arrive, demanding not-so-politely I give them a statement, having been the one to call them and all. By now, the ambulance is completely out of sight.

Goddammit!

What the fuck did I do to deserve this shit?!

* * *

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

* * *

"How much _do_ you remember, Miss…"

I ask while reaching into the woman's gathered purse to hunt down her driver's license.

It takes a bit of searching, but I find not only her ID but a picture of her with the dickhead too. Fuck me, that's probably going to come back and bite me in the ass. Damnit! I was _so_ sure he was just some greasy stalker creep trying to take advantage of her amnesiac state.

I'd _had_ such a bad feeling about him.

I _still_ do, and my gut never lies.

"That's not me."

The now-identified Miss Sookie Stackhouse states firmly as I eye the photo, while doing everything in my power to tamp down my overwhelming surprise.

"Oh, sweet pea," I soothe, because I need to keep her talking – I can't risk her falling asleep on me – but trying so hard not to upset her, "If she's not you, then the resemblance is uncanny."

She's very quiet for a minute.

I can practically see the gears turning in her head.

"Well either way, I _don't_ _want_ to know that man," she spits out, rubbing lightly at the blanket wrapped around her bruised arms, "and I'm sick of being told that I do."

Too bad, she's probably engaged.

My brother would love this feisty woman.

"Can I tell you a secret? I didn't care for him much either."

Maybe I shouldn't say it, but I've already been unprofessional once tonight. So what's the harm in continuing the trend? The coming shit-storm's going to be the same size either way.

Obviously amused, she giggles.

One of those jingling laughs that's pretty much infectious.

"I'm Pam, by the way."

I offer through soft chuckles of my own, extending out my hand in a very uncharacteristically courteous gesture – and she shakes it softly.

This is so unlike me.

I'm usually much more detached, fairly distant with patients.

Definitely, if anything, only on a last name basis.

My phone chirps several times in my pocket – a text message for sure – and I reach in to swiftly silence it. As I open my mouth to ask Sookie how she's feeling, if she's experiencing any new or worsening pains, the device vibrates loudly against my leg. I hate these phones that can't ever be _truly_ silenced – total bullshit, that's what that is.

"Pam, if you need to get your phone, it's okay."

"No, I _need_ to recheck your vitals."

I explain lamely as it starts buzzing again, vaulting my anxieties up to epic levels.

No one in my family just calls to chat – we're texters all the way.

Which means it's an emergency.

"I'm sure my vitals'll be the same two minutes from now. It's fine; I'm fine. Please, answer it."

It's not like I can step away – we are both sitting in the back of an ambulance for crying out loud – so I answer, knowing Sookie can't help but eavesdrop.

Cute woman that she is, she makes a show of plugging her ears all the same.

"Fuck, Pam. Fuck!"

My brother whisper-yells in my ear through the tinny speaker, scaring the ever-living hell out of me.

"What's wrong?! Talk to me! Are you okay?!"

I try to keep my voice at a hushed volume as well, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge for privacy.

But until we get to the hospital, Sookie covering her ears is the best I'm going to get.

"Pam," he chokes out like he's heartbroken – is my brother… crying? I've never once heard him cry, "I'm such a dick. I'm such an awful fucking dick!"

The guilt-laden emotion rich in his voice sparks something in me and I instantly go all Mother Hen on him, hoping to calm whatever storm he's stirred up inside himself.

"It's okay. Whatever it is. It'll be okay. Stay where you are. Once I'm back at the hospital, I'll see if I can take the rest of the night off. I'm here for you. You know that, right?"

I'd been dying for him to interrupt me somewhere in my long-winded speech.

It terrifies me that he didn't.

A beat of silence passes, maybe two.

"Pam," this time he says my name impassively – like he's managed to drain himself of all feelings, "I fucking caused a wreck tonight. I went back, I got her out, but she's all bruised up, scarred up, probably for life, she couldn't even tell me her name or remember any other shit…"

Holy fucking cow.

I can't hold myself back.

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, ERIC?!"

"Eric?"

Sookie asks wide-eyed and eager, her hands dropping to her lap, looking altogether too much like a child who's been told she can have ice cream for breakfast.

Oh God, she doesn't know he caused her accident.

He didn't tell her.

But looking at how happy she is, smiling wide at the mere thought I'm talking to the man who pulled her from her totaled vehicle, I know I can't right now either. I mean, he's my brother, so I'm not keen on the idea of throwing him to the wolves. But if I had to, I would – we're not fucking criminals. I know I won't have to though.

He'll make amends; he always owns up to his mistakes.

He's just that kind of man.

"Sorry," Sookie murmurs apologetically, her face falling since I haven't answered her yet, "It's probably a different Eric. I'm sure there's more than one in the world."

She jokes lightly as she cups her ears once again – her sad smile betraying her.

Breaking a heart I would've sworn earlier I didn't have.

"Get yourself the fuck together!"

I hiss quietly, not in an attempt to chide him further – he's doing a damn good job of that all by himself – but to show him I mean business.

Because I've got someone here who really needs to see him.

* * *

 _A/N: Woo-hoo! Thanks, Pam! :)_


	4. Chapter 4

I hang up with my sister, Pam, and try like hell to climb out of my own head.

I know why she told me to grow a pair, even though she said it much more colorfully. _Sookie_. I should've figured Pam, as a first responder, would be the one on the scene. But I was surprised she'd still been asking for me. _Sookie_. I couldn't help but hear her melodic voice as she called out my name, her tone hopeful, full of longing.

I don't know what it is about this woman.

But she shakes me to my core.

I've never felt anything like this before. Raw. Consumed. Split open without abandon. She's teeming in my veins, demanding my every thought. It's like I'm going crazy. Completely blind for her, and what she does to me.

Sookie makes me feel alive.

Even though I've only known her for less than an hour.

Only street racing has ever done that for me. Lit my nerves up like a match placed against a gasoline-doused log. Caused electricity to dance under my skin. Threatened to rend me into two from sheer exhaustion – exhilaration.

Until now.

I hate that my Tesla is practically untouched – pristine, despite the accident – as I pull into the hospital's parking lot. I'd almost love for it to be destroyed, ravaged to bits like her Hyundai Ioniq, like her memory. The guilt is running deep. I'm not sure I'll be able to overcome it. I swallow hard as I briskly walk through the automatic doors, containing my anxieties as I sweep towards the nurses' station.

"Pam Northman?"

I ask, quickly realizing I have no idea what Sookie's last name is – who she is, really.

How to find her.

"Oh Eric!" the woman enthuses, remembering me even though I clearly don't recall ever having met her, "Your sister's just come in with a patient!"

Her bubbliness is turning my stomach, making me feel violently ill. I don't want to be hit on, I want to see Sookie. To see for myself she's okay, and out of harm's reach. _Away from Bill_ – my mind sneers at me, reminding me that he'd rubbed me all the wrong ways when I'd met him.

And yet, I'd left Sookie with him anyways.

I'm such a fucking prick.

"She's busy," the starry-eyed woman insists, coming from around the counter to try to grab at my hand, which I wrench away from her grasp, "but I'll let you know just as soon as she's…"

"ERIC!"

Pam screeches gleefully, thankfully interrupting the too-touchy feely harpy as she tries once again to grope for my hand – like I'd ever be turned on by desperation.

"Sookie needs you."

Pam says more composedly, pulling me with her as she strides quickly towards a private room, inhabited surely by the aforementioned woman.

I ring my hands in anticipation at being near Sookie, my emotions a blurry mix of fear and excitement as I think about seeing the beautiful young woman who has captivated me, dominated my thoughts in such a short period of time. She mesmerizes me. I can barely understand it. She's somehow stilled the chattering demons claiming me.

Perhaps she actually _is_ a siren.

" _Eric_."

Sookie breathes out when she finally spies me, reverence clear in her sapphire eyes and tone.

Then I'm next to her, and she slaps me.

Hard.

"You. Left me. With. That _PRICK_!"

She accuses loudly, pressing a finger against my clothed chest as a shudder runs through her form from the contact – she's trying to be an angry kitten.

But her broad smile belies her.

"You shouldn't have left me."

Sookie states quietly as her smile fades, pulling her finger back so she can wring her hands nervously before combing her fingers through her blonde hair, twisting the strands into a braid she doesn't tie off.

Everything she does beguiles me.

And reminds me what I _have_ to do, to have a chance at deserving her.

"I _am,_ " I stress, "an insensitive asshole," momentarily throwing my hands into the air, as if to say 'I surrender', playfully to lighten the mood – knowing that it's futile because I'm about to make it that much heavier, "the same piece of shit idiot who hit you with my car and caused all your problems in the first place."

There it is – the truth.

It comes out sounding grave, damn near despondent, like the world's about to open up and swallow me whole while I stare at the tiled floor.

I'm sort of hoping it does.

Instead a nurse interrupts the haze of fog-like silence that's descended, breeching our previously private space to inspect Sookie's IV line and the bandaged bump on her noggin. Nurse Whoever doesn't bother to introduce herself or address me, paying attention only to her medical ministrations, save the few heated glances she takes in my direction. A day ago, I would've been flirting up a storm, trying to play up the obvious attraction to close the deal, but now I'm struggling to keep my dinner down.

Those unwelcome looks coupled with the heavy air have me positively sick.

Sookie's refusal to meet my pleading eyes doesn't help.

She's looking everywhere but me, studying the chart on the wall like it holds all the universe's secrets and can help her attain nirvana, counting ceiling tiles, and then staring at the door like it'll lead her to the promised land. I'd pay good money to be able to read her mind right now, to know what's going on in that beautiful head of hers. Even though I'm thinking I've got a pretty clear picture.

She wants me to leave.

So I try to oblige, moving towards the door as the nurse continues her tasks.

"Where… are you going?"

Sookie asks sadly – her voice piercing the almost-corporeal silence – as if she knows the answer already but is still afraid to hear it.

Conversely, I'm amazed and stunned she noticed my hasty flight away from her at all.

"I…"

All other words catch in my throat, like a frog has been permanently lodged there to deny me any opportunity to explain.

"Don't go, Eric."

Sookie whispers as my sister Pam bounds into the room, a veritable maelstrom of irritation cascading off of her tall but petite form.

"Nurse Fagen, you can go. Doctor Brigant said he's heading in soon, and I don't see any need to keep poking and prodding this poor young woman until then. Do _you_?"

My sister is nothing, if not aggressive in her confrontations – proven once again, as she stands hand on her hips begging Nurse Fagen to brook an argument that at least _I'm_ sure isn't going to come.

If anything the woman looks practically green, almost nauseous.

She scurries from the room like her scrubs are on fire, and Pam slams the door behind her – muttering something akin to 'good riddance to bad rubbish' as it hits the jamb.

Uneasy silence ensues.

"So…" Sookie speaks first, her eyes darting between Pam and myself, cutting through almost-viscous tension before anyone else dares to, "Pam, once I'm cleared, could you drive me… _home_?"

The last word slips out trepidatiously, likely as she remembers she doesn't exactly know where that is.

But she rebounds quickly.

"Better safe than sorry... I mean, now that I know all about _Speed Racer's_ apparently _appalling_ driving record. "

Sookie teases with a wink, a wide and playful grin tugging at her rosy lips, mirth sparkling in her deep jewel-blue orbs – displaying her mercies, which I most certainly have not earned.

Bats could take up residence in the gaping cavern that is my mouth I'm so shocked.

 _That_ woman is an angel sent down straight from the heavens.

"Oh, and maybe you should drive Eric, too," Sookie adds cheekily, reaching out for my hand – bidding me to close the small space between us, a request I complete as my heart thumps hopefully against its bony cage, "Can't let Speed Racer risk life and limb twice in one night."

God, I don't deserve her in the slightest.

But, damn, I'm going to try to.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks to MrsKroy and Rachel Olsen-Williams. Best betas, best friends! I got caught up during the holidays, but I will try to get back on track. My goal is to get more chapters for most everything before my 34th birthday in a couple weeks! I'm even working on We Belong (collective gasp!)._

 _Also, prolly the cutest chapter I've ever written._ _Thanks for reading!_


	5. Chapter 5

"Knock knock."

Doctor Brigant says as he saunters into the room, Sookie's medical chart in hand while his spectacles rest on the edge of his slightly curved nose.

Sookie gives him a small warm smile, inviting him to her side like an old friend instead of a doctor here to deliver potentially portentous news. I shift in my seat and bow my head, clutching her hand like a lifeline as I realize I'm afraid to uncover the extent of her injuries. The ills I've reined upon her with my recklessness.

Her Speed Racer joke bounces around like a wrecking ball in my head.

Destroying everything in its path.

"Ms. Stackhouse…"

"Miss."

She corrects him sweetly, pulling her left hand from my own to display the obvious lack of a sparkling, or even dull, engagement ring.

I'd like to say that offers me some modicum of relief, but it doesn't.

Because maybe she just forgot to put it on.

" _Miss_ Stackhouse."

Doctor Brigant amends brightly as he tilts her chin up to flash a small light into her eyes, seemingly pleased with what he finds.

"Now tell me," he continues after pocketing the device and soundlessly pulling an upholstered metal chair over to her bedside, "other than the bumps and bruises already reported by Ms. Northman…"

 _Pam_.

I mouth to Sookie as a deep, confused furrow captures her brow.

"…how are you feeling? Any headaches or odd pains?"

"Ummm…" she hums nervously, biting her lip in a way that tells me she hasn't been terribly honest about the extent of her injuries, "Can we speak in private? Will you ask them to leave first?"

She whispers the last part to the doctor before offering me a weak smile that I'm sure is meant to be something akin to an apology.

Of course, I accept it by offering her a reassuring smile of my own.

I don't think I could deny her anything, even if I tried.

Patting her hand softly, I rise from my seat and join Pam at the now open door, pausing only momentarily to glance over at Sookie, who's staring at me gratefully with glistening eyes. "I'll be right outside," I assure her, before I step over the threshold and shut the hospital door. My hand trembles as it remains curled around the nickel-brushed lever. Pam pries away my fingers before I can protest and pulls me into an awkward hug.

We've never really been one of those overtly affectionate families.

But I guess there's a first time for everything.

"Don't worry, Eric," my sister soothes, surprising the fuck out of me with how supportive she's being – especially since it's all my fucking fault, "she's gonna be okay. I have a feeling she's stronger than all of the rest of us combined."

Suddenly, my face is wet with salty trails of tears, and my body's shaking like a leaf.

Even though, I'm embarrassed by the display I don't try to stop it.

I don't know where this emotional upheaval is coming from. It's so unlike me. But as awful as it feels, it's… helping, figuratively releasing a pressured valve inside me. Veritably blessing my soul from the outside in – or that's what I guess, never having been one to frequent church. Does Sookie go to church? She seems like the kind of woman that would. Would I be willing to go with her?

My mind begins to wander in that direction, and I let it.

I'm almost afraid to rein it back in.

* * *

"I am only telling you this because Miss Stackhouse has given her permission," Doctor Brigant explains outside Sookie's hospital room door as he adjusts the cuffs of his white coat almost absentmindedly – _everyone_ is worried about her, "She _is_ concussed, which is to be expected after the traumatic event she's been through. But her concussion is mild at best – it's okay if she feels the need to sleep. In fact, I've encouraged her to do so; her body needs to heal…"

This is good news, better than I could've hoped for.

But the somber expression on the aged doctor's face suggests that there is still bad news coming.

"More notably, Miss Stackhouse is suffering from retrograde amnesia; a detail I'm sure you already ascertained. She does not know who is she, but of course she still remembers mundane and repetitive things – like how to tie her shoelaces, for example. I have ordered an MRI, just to rule out the possibility of brain damage, but she's craving normalcy – hoping that will trigger her memories to return. Understandably, she's frustrated that she doesn't even know _what_ that could be…"

God, I'm such a fucking prick.

 _I don't deserve her; I don't deserve her_ – my own thoughts chant repeatedly.

Pam's hand lands on my shoulder, centering me, as the doctor prattles on. He's seemingly trying to battle-ready me for the struggle that will be unearthing the real Sookie Stackhouse from the buried catacombs of her mind. Dr. Brigant describes her condition like she's a child hiding in the dark, scared to come out of the dark. Like maybe someone just needs to shine a light in her direction to get her to stretch out her metaphorical hand, to let someone guide her back into herself.

 _She's just lost right now_ , he says.

What he refuses to say, but can be read between every line, is that she may be lost forever.

Disgusted with myself, I run to the nearest bathroom, glad Pam can't follow me in, to expel the measly contents of my stomach into the closest receptacle – which in this case happens to be a trashcan. Yellow bile mixed with Red Bull, an unsurprisingly disgusting combination. Everything comes out orange.

"I'd hold your hair for you, you know, if it was long enough."

I gasp-choke my shock that _she's_ followed me in here.

Sookie strokes my back comfortingly, her body pressed softly – gently – against mine as I hug the edges of the trashcan. Her fingers dance against the back of my t-shirt, trailing up and down the ridges of my spine – tracing each knob delicately, almost reverently. I don't deserve this; I don't deserve her.

"Quit."

She says quietly, whispering in my ear, as if she's read my mind – knows the heavy thoughts coursing through me, threatening to devour me whole.

God, I can't believe I need her right now more than she needs me.

That I can't be the man who stays strong for her.

"The universe is beyond our control, Eric," she truths, unknowingly touting the very ideal I've tried to base my adult life on, "It tugs us in one direction before dragging us in another. She didn't put us together by accident. I realize I'm so… fucked up right now," the curse that spills from her coral lips shocks me and I raise my head from the receptacle to look at her with my own baby blues, "but that doesn't mean I don't know what I want, who I want. It just means my mind hasn't had the chance to catch up to my heart. Don't count me out yet just 'cause I can't tell you who I am. Because I know what I am – I'm yours."

"Sookie…"

I implore her despondently, simultaneously desperate for her to stop, and continue.

"Eric…"

She enthuses pleadingly in kind, her sapphiric blue eyes bright and hopeful.

"Trust. Me."

* * *

Driving the two of them home to Eric's place, I can't help but feel the heavy tension swimming between them. Sexual, mental, and everything in between. It's palpable, corporeal.

I'd never expected my brother to fall hard for any woman, let alone someone like Sookie.

She's a breath of fresh air, not just for Eric, but for anyone who happens across her. I can't even believe she'd let a man as slimy and conniving as Bill Compton into her life. I can only assume she had a momentary lapse in judgment, one I hope she doesn't repeat once her memory returns.

Because despite Doctor Brigant's, and even Eric's, assessment of the situation, I believe wholeheartedly that Sookie will remember everything about her past in time.

She's just too strong to take the easy way out, to let things stay buried.

"Are you sure you don't mind stopping to pick up my prescription?"

Sookie enquires from the back seat, belying her overly self-sacrificing nature by implying we might be put out by stopping for an errand only she stands to benefit from – her headache medicine and some sleeping pills.

Wrong, sweetheart.

We both want you to be well, too.

"Don't be a silly bitch," I reply, thankful to hear her laugh at, instead of take offense to, my chosen moniker, "Of course we're gonna stop. The doctor called it in, right?"

"Yes, he did. To the pharmacy near my home."

Eric answered as I peered in the rearview mirror to see him snake his arm around a broadly smiling Sookie, who nuzzled into his neck in turn.

We stop at the pharmacy, Eric insisting I leave the car in drive as he runs in – her ID in hand – to retrieve Sookie's medicine. She fidgets in her seat, saying nothing, as we wait for him to return. Moments later, he bursts through the push-bar front door, white paper bag held proudly in hand, and strides back over to the car.

"I missed you."

I swear I hear her say as he slips back into the backseat, sliding across it to lean in and kiss Sookie's cheek before whispering back.

"I missed you, too."

God, I love these two.

If they're not meant for each other, then no one in this godforsaken world is.

* * *

 _A/N: So I had to go to Denver for work this past week, and it was awful. I was exhausted, overworked, and my allergies wreaked havoc on me. So I'm writing like the wind, but my hopes to posting everything before my birthday? Well, those have been dashed. That being said, I'm focusing on Born to Die, and have three full scenes written. Here's to hoping I can get another chapter out soon._

 _Thanks for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

"Soooo cards on the table… a clothing bomb may or may not have gone off in my apartment earlier tonight."

I joke sheepishly after opening my front door, as I guide Sookie by the hand around the piles of dirty laundry randomly strewn about my living room floor.

This is what I get for telling myself, _I'll finish sorting all this shit when I get back home_.

Fucking procrastinating dumbass.

"Well, thank God," she expresses frankly, an impish glean in her eyes threatening to curl her lips into a similarly mischievous smile, "Because I was about to suggest we waste precious time otherwise spent together calling the police to report a break-in."

Her grin tells me she's joking with me, and amused at my embarrassment, as she clasps her hand around mine and pulls us both further into my abode.

"Your place is fine," she reassures me, a pleasing smile tugging at her coral lips, "Except that… it's so… _big_ ," her wide blue eyes sweeping about the expansive space, "Are you sure you're not compensating for something?"

Her eyebrows waggle at the suggestion.

I try to suppress the urge to tell her I'm compensating for nothing – in fact, I'm blessed in that department – afraid to move our seedling relationship in _that_ direction while she's still without her memories.

But I'm still a red-blooded male.

"I can assure you I have _nothing_ to compensate for, Sookie," I enthuse seductively, resisting the urge to pull her form against my rock hard cock, "Sometimes a _big_ house is just a _big_ house, _min lilla_ Freud."

I tease Sookie, adoring the blush that adorns her cheeks at my admission, albeit subversive, that I'm quite large, living space be damned.

Almost unfortunately, my dick joins the party, standing at full attention as if part of roll-call, ready and able to show her just how graciously I've been blessed. It strains against the uneasy confines of my jeans, pressing into the unyielding fabric painfully. Thank fucking God, Pam didn't insist on walking us in – instead she drove off like a madman possessed after Sookie and I exited the vehicle.

 _"Don't fuck it up," she'd said chidingly._

I can't help but think my body's trying to fuck it up even as we speak.

"It seems that despite the _huge_ living room you've only got one bedroom," she points out as she walks about the open space, her blues eyes meeting mine – mirth and fire burning seductively in hers, "Was your intention for us to _share_ the only bed, _Mr. Northman_? Because I have to say I would not be opposed to that, especially since I'm not the least bit _sleepy_."

Sookie's suggestive innuendo and come hither look is not lost on me.

I just don't know how I feel about it.

She can't remember shit. She doesn't even know who she is, and yet she's willing – _wanting even!_ – to sleep with me. Geez, why am I acting like a blushing virgin afraid to call a spade a spade? _She wants to have_ sex _with you, to fuck you hard and put you away wet_. God, I fucking want that too, so much so it physically hurts. Seriously. My dick's still standing at attention, achingly taut against my tight jeans – practically saluting – in response to her enticing display.

What the fuck's wrong with me?!

I didn't bring her home with me to fuck her.

 _Then why did you do it_ – my mind taunts me as I stare into space, lost to the world.

"Eric?" Sookie asks cautiously, snapping me back to reality – the trepidation in her tone entirely my fault, "I wasn't trying to scare you silent; it was just a joke. I mean, I like you, like a lot, and _GOD_ do I want to sleep with you, more than I think I should considering we just met..."

I can't help but wonder if she's so uninhibited about how she feels because she's mildly concussed.

Involuntarily, I rake my hand through my hair as I relive her earlier accident.

She looks concerned.

"Sookie," I interrupt her gently to assure her I feel the same – reaching for her hands and placing them in mine – when suddenly the most embarrassing case of word vomit spills from my lips before I can swallow it back down, "I'm scared."

Oh my fucking god, I can't believe I just admitted that!

Did I _also_ hit my fucking head?!

"Of _me_?"

Sookie asks innocently – concernedly – while squeezing my hand reassuringly, letting me know she is here, with me, and _real_.

I'm such a selfish prick, falling apart when she likely needs me to be strong.

"Yes."

I confess resignedly, knowing I couldn't lie to her even if my life depended on it.

I proved that very fact to myself earlier when I confessed to being the asshole who caused her wreck in the first place – I _had_ to tell her.

Otherwise, the guilt would've eaten me alive.

"Eric," Sookie breathes out exasperatedly, thumbing at the back of my hand as she looks into my eyes reassuringly – I don't fucking deserve her, "I realize this sucks. I _know_ it does, and I don't like it any more than you do…"

Of course she doesn't.

How could she?

"Because… this is the most fucked-up meet-cute… _ever_."

She jokes heartily, laughing at her own words as her gaze turns mirthful and bright – prompting me to share in her revelry.

She is the light to my darkness.

I think I fucking love her.

"Okay, enough of this heavy shit… I don't know who am I, you're ashamed of who you are," she says flippantly – but not disrespectfully – pinpointing my lingering insecurities with laser-sharp accuracy, "…and I can't get blasted on alcohol. _Thank you_ medication," sarcasm has never sounded so alluring or sexy, "So we can stand here sulking all night, or… we can just… go to bed."

Every part of me is ignited into flames by her salacious words – my dick straining against the zipper of my jeans painfully.

No woman's ever had this effect on me before.

Sure, other women have turned me on, had me panting like a teenage boy seeing tits for the first time, but none of them were Sookie. She's a fucking goddess, and I want to kneel at her feet, beg her to grace me with her favors. What I _really_ _don't_ want is a rough and tumble romp between the sheets with her, or a one-night stand – and not just because she can't even remember who she is.

Although, on the other hand, the very thought of burying myself inside her velvet heat sounds amazing.

My throbbing member agrees, veritably begging to be released.

"Sookie," I say hesitantly, gulping audibly as she closes the small space between us to fold her lithe body into mine – _she fits perfectly_ , "while there is nothing – NOTHING – I'd like more than to rip off our clothes and let you have your wicked way with me…"

"Hey, dirty-minded man," she cups my jaw tenderly, stroking the side of my cheek, "sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

She's quoting fucking Sigmund Freud _back to me_ – reminding me that _sleeping together_ doesn't have to mean sex.

I'm usually not this type of guy, but fuck if I don't want to cuddle the shit out of her.

"Okay, Sookie," I grin sweetly – reverently, lovingly – squeezing her hand before leading her towards my bedroom door, "Let's… go to bed."

* * *

Dressed only in one of my t-shirts, which swallows her petite frame, Sookie crawls under the plaid-patterned covers of my California King-size bed, before inching her heart-shaped ass towards my boxer-covered cock.

My resolve to be a good, Southern _gentleman_ is being tested right now, pushed practically past to its limits.

"Hold me."

She implores beseechingly, reaching for my muscled arm and then circling it about her tiny waist – closing any modicum of space between us as her body molds itself into mine.

She sounds tired – she _is_ tired.

But she's obviously trying to stay awake, even though I don't know why.

"Eric…"

Sookie whispers more than ten minutes later, almost as if she's hoping I'm asleep, like she's _not really_ trying to rouse me.

I lay still, silent – feigning sleep – afraid to hear what she has to say.

"Dr. Brigant…" she continues softly, her muted voice emotional and full of stifled pain – like she's been crying, "he… he said – after you and Pam left – he said when I get my memory back, I probably won't remember what happened while I had amnesia. Which means I won't remember this – or _you_."

I hadn't even considered that.

That once her amnesiac state is sorted out, all memories we'd made would be erased.

It's a disconcerting thought – to say the least.

God, I hope he's fucking wrong.

"I just wanted to say – even though you're sleeping," she soothes quietly, not realizing I was still very much alert and listening, "that at least _this_ me loves you. I don't know what it'll take to make Other Sookie," she refers to herself in third person – as if the Sookie with memories will be a completely different person, "…love you too, but I doubt it'll be much. Just give her the chance to let her mind catch up to her heart…"

Her phrasing echoes the sentiment she'd shared earlier.

When she was consoling me.

"Because her heart – my heart – belongs to you."

Instinctively, wordlessly, I draw her closer against me, hugging her tightly with no intents to let her go – cradling her like she's precious.

Because she is.

Once Sookie's breathing evens out, indicating she's succumbed to sleep, I whisper back.

Knowing she won't hear me.

"Lilla du, my heart belongs to you, too."

* * *

" _AHHHHHH_!"

The blood-curdling scream rips me straight out of my dream of me and Sookie tending to our three children as we enjoy our familial excursion to the Baton Rouge Zoo.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, AND WHAT THE FREAKIN' _HELL_ ARE WE DOING IN BED?!"

Fuck.

Apparently Dr. Brigant was right.

* * *

 _A/N: So I try to shy away from dumping my insecurities here, but I'm a member of some fandom FB groups and it's hard not to notice that whenever someone asks for a rec my stories are never part of the list. Am I gonna whine and boo-hoo about it? Maybe privately (kidding). No, I'm going to take this opportunity to say **thank you** to my readers for finding and following my works. I treasure the fact you take time to read the things I write._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: This story is winding down quickly, so excited and thanks for reading!_

* * *

I squint painfully as streaks of light slip through the slatted blinds and assault my sleep-filled eyes.

"Bill, get off of me."

I mumble tersely, shoving half-heartedly at the lump pressed up against my backside that's making me feel all kinds of overheated.

" _Ugghhh_ …"

I groan quietly as wakefulness brings with it a deluge of bodily aches and pains my foggy mind can't seem to locate a cause for.

It feels like I've got the hangover from hell, but I can't even remember drinking.

"Bill, get _off_ of me."

I whisper-growl a little more fervently, trying to scoot away when suddenly his surprisingly strong arms tighten around me.

I reach my hand back to push at him again, this time finding skin – not just skin, abs.

Like rippled, cut six-pack abs.

 _When the heck did Bill get so muscle-y?_

But, of course, I don't take even one second to mull that one over because I already know the answer.

He didn't.

Time literally grinds to a halt as I slowly turn my head to look at the man tucked closely behind me, pinching myself so harshly – _Sookie, wake up NOW!_ – I know it'll leave a bruise.

Truthfully, I'm not sure what's pounding harder right now: my head or my heart.

" _AHHHHHH_!"

I scream when _he_ comes into view.

I'm not sure if I'm more startled by how gorgeous he is, that I don't know who he is, or the fact we're in bed together.

I ignore my initial reaction that he is a stunning specimen, gorgeous as all get out – and definitely the epitome of a man – and choose to focus on my other two questions instead.

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU, AND WHAT AM I DOING IN YOUR BED?!"

 _Well, that was entirely uncalled for, Sookie._

I chide myself, rocking my throbbing head side to side – with my fingerpads pressed firmly against my temples – after I practically vault myself out of the bed, away from this delicious but strange man.

Did I cheat on Bill last night?

Something instinctually tells me no, but I can't shake that niggling feeling if I didn't cheat on him, the only _way in hell_ I'd be in bed with another man is if he cheated on me.

That rat freaking bastard!

That bitch!

Lorena.

The scene floods my mind – a memory, I suppose. I'm walking into Bill's house, climbing the stairs as I hear soft grunts coming from down the hall, where his bedroom is located – our bedroom. I throw open the door to find my fiancée balls deep inside the coworker he'd sworn was nothing more than a platonic friend. It's easily the most disgusting thing I've ever had the displeasure of seeing in my entire life.

That's what I got for trying to surprise him on his birthday apparently.

It's no wonder my mind was trying to suppressing that particular memory.

I double over almost instantly, my hands flying from my head to wrap around my stomach as I wretch the meager contents of my stomach onto mystery man's carpeted floor.

Gosh, I've just managed to make everything a hundred times more awkward.

"Sorry."

I choke out weakly as I wipe my mouth off with the oversized t-shirt I'm wearing, realizing all too late that I'm only sporting my thong panties underneath – no bottoms covering me.

I've basically just flashed my butt to a complete stranger.

Could this morning be anymore… _mortifying_?

"You have nothing to apologize for, lilla du."

The blonde Adonis reassures me, using a nickname that sounds foreign but feels strangely familiar, as he moves around the bed to kneel beside me.

He rubs the small of my back – drawing lazy, spine-tingling circles – and even though I'd never normally accept this sort of comfort from someone I don't know, I can't help but lean into his touch.

It makes no sense.

But with all the other chaos swirling around me, I'll take whatever semblance of normal I can get.

"I'll be right back."

The still unidentified man says, remaining at my side until I nod in understanding – _gosh, my head hurts something fierce_ – before he stops his ministrations and disappears from the room.

I lift myself from my hunched over position – grimacing at the disgusting pile on the floor – and move to sit uneasily on the edge of the unmade bed, before placing my pulsating head back in my hands.

Either this is the worst hangover of my life, or something else is wrong.

 _Did I hit my head last night?_

I hate that I really can't remember what else happened after I caught Lorena and Bill.

Just when my thoughts start to turn sour, _he_ returns with a glass of water in one hand and a prescription bottle in the other.

"What's your name?"

I whisper tentatively, embarrassed that I have to ask at all, considering we've apparently shared a bed.

"Eric Northman."

Eric.

It's a strong name, and somehow fitting for him.

But at the same time, it means nothing to me – doesn't ring a bell or spark a single memory.

That fuggin' sucks.

"Did we…?"

I ask without looking at him, afraid to finish my sentence, as he depresses the spot on the mattress beside me – handing me the glass of water before moving to twist the cap off of the pill bottle.

I spy my name printed on the white label.

 _Those are mine._

That's going to be the focus of my next question for sure.

His eyes glaze over, get lost in space, as he taps a single tablet out of the container and into his open palm. He considers it and my question for a moment before answering. I'm trembling now, the water in my hand sloshing against the sides of the glass.

I'm on pins and needles – scared to find out the answer.

I really don't want my first time to have been wasted on a one-night stand.

"We wanted to," Eric admits despondently, raking his hand almost sheepishly through his hair, "but we agreed it was best not to since you weren't… yourself."

I breathe out a heavy sigh of relief before accepting the offered pill, popping it into my mouth, and chasing it down with a large swig of tepid water.

I swallow not only the medicine, but the bubbling feeling of regret that weirdly follows the pretty much kneejerk feeling of relief.

Something tells me I've done myself a grave disservice.

My head still hurts too much to go there right now – _gosh, I hope this medicine kicks in soon_ – so I opt to tackle a surprisingly less painful subject instead – Bill's betrayal.

"Bill cheated on me," I mused aloud, trying to verbally string together the night's events – noting that Eric's hands clenched into fists at my admission, "and I ran from him, to my car… My car!"

Another flood of memories surges through me.

The wet road, the blinding lights…

 _The street racers_.

"You… hit me. Oh my God! _YOU_ hit me with your car!"

* * *

All I seem to be able to recall from last nights are the painful parts.

But most disturbingly, the car accident.

When the car flipped – oh my God, when the car flipped! – I was terrified, sobbing outright as my life flashed before my very eyes.

The reel was short, maddeningly short, and ended just as I blacked out.

"You don't need to wait around after you drop me off at the hospital. I can take a cab home."

I offer quietly as I stare blankly out the passenger side window, refusing to look a second time at Eric's injured expression or his white-knuckled grip on the wheel.

I know that while this whole situation is hurting me, it's hurting him too.

I freaking hate that I'm causing him pain.

But when I look at Eric, I can't help but imagine myself back in my car.

I can't fully tamp down the inexplicable and unreasonable feeling that I'm about to die.

"I can't stand the thought of leaving you in a stranger's care. Please don't take a cab, Sookie," Eric pleads with me through gritted teeth, his tone belying how upset he truly is, "If you ask for Pam Northman, when you need to leave, she will be happy to drive you home."

 _Northman?_

"Is she your…"

"Sister? Yes."

He interrupts, granting me a reprieve from my fleeting concerns she might be his wife – God if that had been the case, it would've made an already awful situation so much worse.

"Okay, I will," I acquiesce several minutes later, once the car stopped at its final destination – the hospital's entrance, "And Eric?"

I look at the gorgeous blonde-haired, frowning man before me, really look hard – why can't I remember him?

My heart races and thumps hard against its cage in my chest.

It's still not in a good way.

"I think my mind just needs to catch up… with my heart, I mean," that statement feels naggingly familiar, even if I can't pinpoint why, "But there is _something_ here. I don't want you to think I don't feel it too," this is all so much harder than it was with Bill – _because you didn't really love Bill_ , my inner voice sneers, "I just need some time to recover… for things to return to normal."

 _So I can look at your breathtaking face without feeling like I'm about to die._

"I know, lilla du," I still don't know what those words mean, but they spread an unmistakable warmth through my heart, "take all the time you need. I'll be waiting for you."

* * *

"The swelling has gone down considerably. All in all, your recovery is going better than I would've expected."

Dr. Brigant announces brightly after scanning over my latest MRI – the results still pinned against the backlit board.

I'm sure everyone's brain looks strange from that perspective.

At least when they've had a head injury.

"Do you know Pam Northman?"

I query as I sling my purse strap over my shoulder, deciding to follow through on my promise to Eric – even though it had been made, at the time, in vain.

"She's a first responder, an EMT here," Dr. Brigant explains as he pencils his updated notes onto my chart, "in fact, she's the one who initially rode with you on your way in."

 _Interesting_.

I definitely wanted to speak with her then.

* * *

"So _sweet pea_ ," the almost infamous Pam practically coos as she flits her gaze between me and the rear view mirror while backing out of her assigned parking space, "what exactly do you wanna know about the time you spent with my brother?"

It feels like a loaded question, not that I think she has an ulterior motive.

It's just much bigger than I maybe intend for it to be.

What _do_ I want to know about the man I just met? The one who makes me nervous and excited in the same breath? The one who thrills me almost as much as he scares me? The one I want to find a way to look at without panicking?

The answer is so incredibly simple.

Isn't it?

 _"Everything."_


	8. Chapter 8

"Ugh, am I overreacting?"

I ask exasperated, head in my hands – from irritation at myself rather than a headache this time.

"Fuck no!"

Pam answers determinedly, her take-no-prisoner tone leaving no room for argument.

"Oh _c'mon_ , Sookie," she implores me, leaning over the car's console – thank goodness, we're already in park – to meet my downcast gaze, "Don't be so fucking hard on yourself. Hell, Eric's lucky he's still got his fucking balls right now!"

Gutter-minded, I blush tomato-red as I think about his balls.

And another, hopefully proportional, appendage.

He is a _very_ tall man.

"Twice!"

She practically yells out of nowhere – tearing me away from my likely tame virginal fantasies – after sitting straight up, and a bit further away from me, punctuating her exclamation with two held up fingers.

"You fucking forgave him _TWICE_ , without tearing him a new asshole like he probably deserves, for causing that crazy-ass wreck. I may love my fuckface brother, but if it was me he'd side-swiped on that road? He'd be fucking _PRAYING_ for death right now."

Pam likes to the word "fuck" a shit ton it seems.

It's kind of adorable, and hilarious.

Not that I'd ever tell her that.

"I'm just saying," she enthuses less angrily, calming herself I'm sure in response to my mock-horrified and gaping expression, "You were in a pretty fucking traumatic car accident not even twenty-four hours ago. You woke up in the bed of a man you don't fucking remember – that you strangely have feelings for. And _THEN,_ as if the rest of that wasn't fucking confusing _enough_ , you realize he was _also_ the guy who caused your horrifically terrifying wreck. That's _fifty shades_ of fucked-uppedness, sweet pea! Of course, you need some time to get over it!

Pam makes a good point.

I really haven't thought of it like that.

" _No one's_ going to fault you for that – least of all, Eric."

Of course, I know in my bones she's right.

She _is_ his sister; she really would know best, wouldn't she? Plus, it's not as if I could argue with her. I'd come to the same conclusions just based on my own brief time with him. I mean _c'mon_ , even after my over-the-top freak out moment, he'd been nothing but a complete sweetheart to me. In fact, he'd pretty much been an angel in disguise.

Suddenly, I feel like the air's been knocked out of my lungs, like I've been smacked upside the head.

I may not remember Eric Northman, but dammit I definitely freaking love him.

* * *

Pam takes me home.

I appreciate it, especially since my car's mangled and in a junkyard, but also because I consider her to be my friend – possibly my best one, in fact.

I'd never realized, before this moment, how dependent I'd become on Bill – how much he'd extricated me from the life I'd once lived. Pre-Bill, I'd had friends, spent time with family, and generally just enjoyed this thing called life. Post-Bill? I knew it was going to take me time to rebuild. I'd given up just about everything for him. Like a freaking Stepford wife or something.

When did I become so freaking pathetic?

The truth is he'd broken me down slowly, so slowly I hadn't even noticed it.

Gosh, that's so hard to admit.

I wave to Pam after opening my door and she drives off, backing out of the drive before burning rubber on the road in front of my house. Seems like she's quite the little Speed Racer. _Speed Racer_. I haven't considered that show in ages. At the thought, a foreign feeling snakes through my mind, veritably causing a feeling not unlike déjà vu that I just can't quite place. It's… completely unobtainable, but still maddeningly familiar.

Like whatever memory it's attached to is just… out of reach for me.

 _Strange_.

I close the door behind me, and see my small house with new eyes. Bill may as well be _everywhere_. His influence a part of just about _everything_. The weird artwork on the walls, the ugly rug on the foyer floor – even in the black dish towel that hangs from my oven's door handle. I can't help but remember _I'd_ wanted a cute pattern I'd seen – an assortment of brightly-colored vegetables – that'd seemed playful and fun. He'd somehow convinced me that was silly, and impractical.

What a freaking prick!

All of it has to go, and NOW – I decide.

It takes hours to extricate, to remove Bill's influence from my house – to cleanse myself of his presence in my life – but I feel amazing. Like a weight's been lifted from my shoulders. The distraction does great things for my mind, and also my nerves. Makes me feel like a new woman.

 _One that finally deserves someone like Eric._

I can't help but think to myself.

"Sookeh…"

How the hell did Bill get into my house? I'd never given him a key…

But instead of worrying on it too long – he's _here_ no matter how he got in – I tuck my phone into my pocket and do an about-face to address him.

" _Bill_."

I spit out tersely, venom distinguishable in my tone.

He obviously ignores it.

"Oh, sweetheart!"

Bill coos – making my stomach flip and twist into knots – as he reaches to hug me.

I sidestep that unwanted gesture and scowl unabashedly.

My Gran raised me to be a polite and mannerly Southern woman, but even she's gonna openly hate Bill once she finds out what he's done. She's fierce as a lioness when it comes to her family, and he's wronged me in ways I'd never expected. Dammit, I was so naïve.

He'd been controlling me, c _heating_ on me, and generally trying to have his cake and eating it, too.

This man's gonna be worse off than burnt toast if Gran gets a go at him.

I smile at the thought.

Unfortunately, Bill takes this as a good sign and tries to double-down hard on our reunion, sweeping me into his arms – even as I attempt to struggle away.

I didn't realize until just this moment how sore I still am.

"GET OFF OF ME!"

I shriek, screaming at the top of my lungs as I attempt to push myself away from his embrace, my bruised arms burning from pain.

"Shhh, baby, let me love you…"

Is all he offers in response as he grips me tighter, grinding his pathetically small erection against the bone of my hip – what's going on in that pea brain of his?!

Of course, I can guess.

Fuck. This. Shit.

I turn towards him, hating that it's necessary to let him rub himself against me in my most private places – even if just for a second – before I knee him _hard_ in the groin. I double strike Bill's balls just in case the message gets lost somehow, sending him instantly to the floor. He's writhing in pain, gripping his nether regions like his hands are an athletic cup, and whimpering like a child.

I step back from him, not because I'm conflicted about my actions or scared of him, but because I'm denying the urge to kick him – over and over.

 _"911, what's your emergency?"_

The woman on the other line asks after I dial the aforementioned number on my previously pocketed phone.

"I need a police officer to come as soon as possible. My ex-fiancé just broke into my house and attacked me," I say shakily as adrenaline suddenly surges through me – what the hell almost just happened? "I incapacitated him, but there's no telling whether or not he'll be stupid enough to try to get back up."

I shoot Bill a pointed look.

He refuses to meet my eyes, still focused on tending to his aching balls.

There's a beat of silence before the operator responds.

 _"There's an officer en route to your location, ma'am. He was in the area, so he's less than five minutes out. If you'd like, I can remain on the line until he arrives."_

"Thank you," I offer, "I'd appreciate that."

Gosh, I hope they put Bill in handcuffs, and maybe rough him up a little.

That's the least he probably deserves.

* * *

"Will you be okay, ma'am? Is there someone you can call?"

Is there someone I can call?

It's a simple question that earns a simple answer.

"Yes."

"Okay, Miss Stackhouse. So then… we'll be in touch."

Officer Bellefleur says as he flips his pocket notebook closed to glance at Bill, who's cuffed and crying in the back of his squad car – I take a second to snap a picture of the turd with my phone.

Stupid Billy Compton apparently thought he was above the law, acted like a freaking jackass and got himself body-slammed to the ground.

And I got to see every bit of it – yay me!

It's amazing to me how easy it was falling out of love with Bill. I didn't even need him to validate my earlier speculations before I'd felt inclined to carve him out of my life, piece by piece. Of course, the memory of him balls deep in Lorena sadly came back as soon as I heard his whiny voice, but I'm looking on the bright side of that one. At least, I don't have any doubts, or regrets, about trusting my gut over him. I probably should've done that a long time ago.

 _You refused repeatedly to have premarital sex with him_ , I chide myself, _that's how little you trusted him_.

I didn't realize that was why I was so hesitant at the time, but hindsight's definitely 20-20.

I wave at Officer Bellefleur as he backs down the drive, and then, when Bill raises his head to look at me pleadingly, I stick out my tongue childishly. _Good riddance to bad rubbish_. The police car slips from view, and I let out a heavy sigh. Relief washes over me instantly, and it's like I'm finally able to breathe.

But regret follows right behind, hot on its heels – grabbing me hard and shaking me like a rag doll.

Not because of Bill – God no! – regrets over Eric, and how we left things.

 _I may not remember the man_ , I muse internally as I walk distractedly back into my house, _but I sure made running from him look easy_. He may have already forgiven me for that according to Pam, but I'm not entirely sure I'll be forgiving myself anytime soon.

 _I shouldn't have left him_.

Just thinking of Eric makes my heart beat wildly in my chest, and not anxiously like before. Well sort of exactly like that, but not in a bad way. Not anymore.

Apparently Pam was right, I just needed a little bit more time.

* * *

 _A/N: One more chapter left, and then I'm taking a real break from all this for a while. I need to focus on me, and RL things sadly. I've been having a hard time. If you're also reading Born to Die (which you should be LOL) I will keep writing on that fic because I love it, but I make no promises on a posting schedule._


	9. Chapter 9

It takes me longer than I'd care to admit to remember that I don't have a car right now.

 _It's in a junkyard somewhere I'm sure._

I can't help but take a brief moment to mourn my precious Hybrid. _Q_ , as I'd named him, was a good car, better than reliable, and got great gas mileage to boot. Thank God for insurance because otherwise, I'd be up shit creek without a paddle. I still owe a lot of money on that loan.

I make a mental note to contact my insurance agent on Monday.

I'm going to need that payout for sure.

My phone's clasped in my trembling hand, and I know I'm purposely distracting myself. Letting my mind wander in every direction except _his_. Which of course is completely futile because he's swimming right at the top of all my thoughts.

Eric.

I dunno why I'm so nervous. He'd said he'd be waiting for me and I believe he meant it wholeheartedly. But here I am, feeling like I've passed a "Do you like me? Yes or no?" note to the boy I like and I'm waiting for his response.

Dreading it, in fact.

In my previous experience, the answer has always been no.

I'm not stupid, I know my low self-esteem had allowed Bill to snake his way into my life – promising hearts and flowers. With wildly lavish proclamations and declarations of love, to boot. I'd been amazed someone _like him_ could even like someone _like me_.

Gosh, I was so pathetic, and basically freaking blind.

Yeah, now I know that someone _like him_ liked someone like me _because_ I was so naïve and kind, innocent as all get out and willing to take everything he said at face value.

Because I loved the idea of love.

And I'd just wanted it so desperately.

Maybe that's why I'm pretty much afraid to call Eric right now. Because I already trust him so much – _with my life_ – and that scares me to death. I've tumbled down that rabbit-hole before and I'm not sure I've got the heart, or mental fortitude, to do it again…

Okay, seriously, I'm not this pathetic anymore.

It's time to woman up, Sookie.

 _Ring! Ring!_

I dial Eric's number before I give myself anymore chances to chicken out.

"Sookie?"

He sounds confused and sleepy, like maybe I've woken him up from a nap or something.

"Can you come over?"

My voice shakes much more than I mean for it to.

Maybe what just almost happened with Bill is finally hitting home for me.

"Of course," he responds, suddenly sounding ten times more alert, "Pam texted me your address earlier, so I'll be there in a flash, lilla du."

He says it _really_ quietly, but I hear it all the same.

 _Lilla du._

That resonates with me for some reason.

Echoes inside me like the whisper of something trying to break free.

"Okay, _Speed Racer_ …"

I tease without thinking, the nickname feeling achingly familiar as it rolls mindlessly off my tongue.

That shakes something loose inside of me too.

And I get a glimpse of a memory – nothing terribly long – of Eric.

Kissing my cheek. Holding my hand.

 _"I missed you…"_

He says, blue eyes peering into mine.

Then something inside me just…

 _Snaps_.

"Sookie?"

I vaguely hear Eric ask, his voice tinny and distant – like he's trying to talk to me while we're both underwater.

We're not, of course, but we may as well be as loud as my heart's pounding in my ears.

A trickle of images suddenly becomes a torrential flood.

Moments, touches, looks.

It all comes back to me, slamming into me with a force that knocks me from my feet.

"Sookie?!"

I grab my dropped phone and cup it gently against my cheek.

"I missed you too, Eric!"

I choke out amidst my sobs as my chest burns with longing – not pain.

"Oh gosh, Eric. I _really_ fucking missed you too."

* * *

He gets here in what feels like a heartbeat.

Okay, but not really – after several minutes of pounding ones, but it's quick all the same.

I'm waiting on the porch, wringing my hands while I sit in one of my Gran's straw rocking chairs – wondering as his too-fast-looking car kicks up dust on our gravel drive if he's figured it out.

"You… _remember_ me?"

Eric asks incredulously, his eyes flitting across my face as he takes large strides to cross the short space between us.

He _has_ figured it out.

I'm simply too giddy to speak, so instead I nod – vigorously.

Suddenly I'm in his arms with his nose buried in my hair while his hands grasp at my sides like he's trying fuse the two of us into one.

I grip him hard too, pressing myself against his chiseled body like a woman on a mission.

He's completely right – we are _NOT_ close enough.

I may as well be climbing him like he's a tree as I wrap my legs one by one around him, jumping up as he cups my butt to support me.

I feel like a wanton fairy goddess, eagerly seeking… nirvana.

This is _SOOOOO_ not me.

But, also, it totally is.

 _Virgin, Sookie! You're a virgin!_

I feel like I have to keep reminding myself before I do something I might regret.

Bullshit.

 _Like I'd ever regret sleeping with Eric_.

But it's something I need to tell him, instead of letting him figure it out the hard way.

"Wait. _Stop_ ," I say out loud, trying to course correct myself more than Eric – although he noticeably tenses below me all the same, "I've…" Gosh, it's hard to admit, but nerves be damned, I soldier on anyways, "I've never done this before."

I'm worried he won't get my meaning – that he'll force me to out myself as a virgin – but as always, or at least in the short time I've known him, he continues to surprise me.

"Have you been… waiting for marriage?"

 _Thank God_ we can avoid _that_ uncomfortable conversation.

Of course, now we're gonna awkwardly maneuver our way into the next one.

"No," I answer honestly, shaking my head vehemently – hoping he'll glom on to how truthful I'm being, "I guess maybe I've been waiting… for _THE ONE_. You know? For someone like you."

I whisper the last bit because it sounds sappy as hell – it _IS_ sappy as hell – but it's true nonetheless.

On some level, I think I've always known that Bill wasn't the guy for me.

I was definitely waiting until I found the _right_ man – Eric.

Suddenly, I'm more than aware that my legs are still wrapped tightly around his waist and my breasts are still pressed firmly against his heaving chest. My hips are lightly gyrating against the large bulge in his pants. I swear, either he's got a steel rod in his pocket or he's _very_ happy to see me. Embarrassed as all get out, I blush profusely before launching myself away from him, mumbling half-hearted apologies as guilt swells up within me.

 _What is wrong with me?!_

It's like I've lost all control of myself.

"Uh, uh, uh," Eric tuts playfully, closing the small distance between us with one stride, "the woman of my dreams just admitted I'm the man of hers. I'm never going to let her – you – go."

 _Swoon!_

I'm back in his arms in less than a heartbeat.

 _Tha-thump tha-thump tha-thump._

It's beating wildly in my chest, threatening to burst from excitement – possibly love.

 _Love_?

"How is this possible? We just met a couple days ago…" I muse quietly, burying my head in the crook of his shoulder and tugging my arms tightly around him – not really seeking an answer to my question, "We barely know each other…"

Eric adjusts his hold on my butt, ensuring I'm secure against him, and then starts walking us back towards my house.

Once we reach the door's threshold, he pauses.

" _Someone_ very insightful, and stunningly beautiful I might add, once told me, that the universe is beyond our control."

"No fair, Mr. Northman," I say, playfully swatting his arm, earning a faux glare in the process – "using my own words against me."

I pout in response, jutting my lower lip out hard and cartoon-like.

Because I can, not because I'm actually feeling pouty.

"Oh yes, Miss Stackhouse," he purrs, sending shivers down my spine and straight to my core, "All is fair in love…"

"And war? Really? No Freud?"

I add cheekily, laughing so hard I'm pretty much shaking in his arms.

 _Everything is so easy with him._

"My my, Miss Stackhouse… How bold one gets when one is sure of being loved."

Oh my gosh, Eric knows obscure Siggy quotes.

 _Double swoon._

"Why, Mr. Northman," I state dramatically, fanning myself the hand I'm not using to cling to him as I accentuate my Southern drawl – really hamming it up, as my Gran would say, "I do believe you've just earned yourself one helluva kiss."

I lean in towards him, eyes closed and lips puckered – half-joking, but also _beyond_ ready.

When his lips meet mine, I nearly combust right then and there.

Okay, I actually do.

Apparently I've been wound up _THAT_ tight.

"You look like heaven when you come, lilla du," Eric enthuses, placing his forehead against mine as I come down from my orgasmic high – my breath erratic and short, "Can I take you inside, Sookie? I want to see that again."

Words have failed me, so I nod my head.

Oh yes please, Mr. Northman, make me see those flickering stars again.

* * *

"Where… do we… go from here?"

I ask Eric curiously, my chest heaving as I gasp for breath after what can only be described as the most exquisite orgasm I've ever experienced.

The ones I've given myself _pale_ in comparison.

Seriously, _THIS_ is what I've been missing?!

With a contented smile painted across my face, I delicately weave my fingers through his, without even bothering to raise my head, which is resting on his naked chest.

 _Yummy_.

"Out on a proper date."

He responds confidently – _triple swoon_ – before kissing the crown of my head before he hugs me impossibly closer.

We can't get close enough to one another, and I love it.

"Seriously, Sookie. This. Us. This is what I want."

"Me too."

I agree blithely, snuggling against him as I rub my cheek over the fine hairs bespeckling my man's nearly hairless chest.

Several moments pass in silence.

Our synced breaths are the only sounds permeating my bedroom space.

"But can we do this? I mean, really?"

I ask abruptly but with a hopeful tone, lifting up and away from him to a seated position – completely ignoring my nakedness.

I have nothing to be ashamed of.

"Lilla du," he pauses, taking a moment to brush his lips against my skin, "We can overcome anything so long as we're together. Because I love you," _Quadruple swoon_ , "This," he motions between us, "was _always_ meant to be."

"I love you too."

Sighing contentedly, I settle back down to nestle against him.

My mind's firing on all cylinders, still trying to take this all in.

It's crazy to think that the _tiny_ little decision I'd made to surprise the man I'd foolishly committed myself to quite literally led me into the arms of another. To my _actual_ true love. My soul mate. To Eric.

Truthfully, I can barely wrap my head around it.

All I know for sure is that fate _really is_ a mysterious and crazy thing.

* * *

 _Oh Oh Ohhh Oh Oh Ohhh I'm falling_

 _So I'm taking my time on my ride_

 _Taking my time on my ride_

-Ride by twenty one pilots

* * *

 _A/N: The. End! Thanks for reading!_

 _Also, I'm happy to say that although I've been considering quitting fanfiction, due to RL BS, the biggest issue has finally been resolved! I've been struggling as the sole breadwinner for the past 4 months in my household, but no more, so YAY! I'm hoping my muse, once crazy stress fully dissipates, will return to me full force. Fingers crossed!_


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